It
wasn't even close. I not only lost to all the "cheaters" in
the
karaoke contest, I was fourth place out of the non-cheating, low-vote-getting
losers. That's like not even being allowed to ride on the short bus.

Sad,
sad, sad.

I
decided over the weekend that I would rise above all the petty
squabbling of last week and hang my head high, knowing that I did
my best and that it didn't matter what public opinion says  I
know in my heart that I gave sweet, delicious karaoke stylings and that's
all that matters.

But
then, later in the weekend, I thought, "Fuck that."

I
want to be petty.

So,
basically, it sucks. I'm mad and upset and I will never forgive anyone
who dared beat me or vote against me in this contest. It should have
been mine. All weekend, I broke stuff in my house. I kicked the cat
around a few times. I prank called people in the karaoke contest:

And
now it has passed, has the hurt gone away?
Hell no, beeyatches, I cry every day.

So
next time you enter, try to win something nice,
I'll pray locusts on you, I'll wish you head lice.

In
my lost darkest hour, in a time of great need,
You voted for those who inspired such greed.

And
now here I sit, with my tasty "Ike" song,
Folks, you must know, this is nothing but wrong.

Not
that I'm bitter.

For
those you of you who asked about my Mom's health over the weekend, thanks.
She's doing a lot better. On Saturday, I went home and presented her
a birthday gift  a personal spa. It's basically a bath mat with
a little motor and it makes heated bubbles. It also has a floating remote
controller. Even better: It has cool little spiked footrests that you
can rub your footsies on. Quite the luxury item.

I'm relaxed just looking at this.

I
always have a horrible time shopping for Mom because ... well, I don't
know why. I think Moms in general are tough to buy gifts for. I mean,
this is the person who birthed you  who went into labor to bring
your slimy little ass into the world. How does a bouquet of flowers,
even nice ones, come close to repaying that?

The
best compliment I got on the gift, though, was my Mom saying that she
had seen the little personal spa in a circular and had been wanting
to buy it. Any gift that somebody was about to go plunk some cash for
is typically a well-timed gift.

My
grandparents were in town, too, and the whole spa thing turned into
a funny discussion of an incident I don't remember.

When
I was 11, the story goes, and we were living in Mississippi, my parents
decided to have a relaxing and romantic evening.

The
made sure my little brother, who was maybe a year old, was safe. They
made sure I was asleep. Then they drew up some bubbles and got their
bathtub groove on.

So
there they are, I guess immersed in bubble bath together with candles
and such (they're my parents, ya'll. Let's not get too visual here),
and whispering to each other about whether they were going to wake the
kids up and whether we could hear them.

At
some point, I guess when they were tired of being all cramped and wrinkly
in the tub, they were going to get out. But, uh oh, there were no towels.

My
mom whispered to my dad, "We don't have any towels!"

And
my little 11-year-old ass yells from outside the door, "I'll get
them!"

So,
I've gotten in the steady habit of updating on Monday, Wednesdays
and Fridays, but I completely missed the boat yesterday. So it looks
like a Tuesday/Thursday Terribly Happy kind of week.

I was
at the South by Southwest
Interactive festival all day Sunday and Monday, hanging out with
Pamie, Wing
Chun, Kim
and Stee,
who are prime specimens of humans who are good to be around. This
is the inverse of humans you don't want to associate with,
like say Pol Pot, or Hitler or the guy with the poison Kool-Aid.

The
whole weekend was a blur of activity, from heading to San Antonio
to be with the family to trying to hit the SXSW panels (one of which
I moderated to talk about what video games will be like in the future:
The conclusion was they'll be online. Yay.) and having various dinners/drinks
with all the fine friends who are in town this week.

Sunday
night, I was up until 2 a.m. trying to complete a revision on an LCP
skit.

I find
myself in a weird zone where not only am I not getting enough sleep,
but there's no possible way I can see myself achieving sleep any time
in the next week. My body is protesting by making my bones ache and
giving me occasional headaches like, "Hey! Asshole! I need sleep,
here! Find a pillow, take off those pants, and make with the zzzz's
already! You're not an amphetamine addict, so would you stop living
like one?"

But
even when I go to bed, I still find myself lying there, thoughts abuzz,
going over the list of things I didn't get to that day. This week,
between SXSW, rehearsals, work (yes, I still have to go to work this
week) and Terribly Happy (which got a full big-screen plug at the
festival during a "Humor on the Web" panel thanks to a former
co-worker friend of mine), sleep just has ceased to be an option.
It's like grabbing a slice of bread on your way out the door because
you know you need food. There's no pleasure or flavor to this sleep.
It's just a means to the end of waking up the next morning and getting
back on that monstrous To Do list that seems especially long this
week.

And
I can't. It's scary because being this busy and overwhelmed is a high
in itself. When the week is over, and I know this will happen because
I've experienced it dozens of times, I'll look back and be proud of
my little productive self. I'll be amazed at how much I got done,
how it all worked out and how I successfully juggled 13 different
jobs and activities in the space of a few days.

And,
usually it turns out that none of it suffers in terms of quality.

But
I suffer a little. My body loses sleep. My diet loses non-microwaved
fresh food. My already shaky stamina loses the one or two nights of
going to the gym I might have had otherwise. And the people who I
work with and am close to who are around all the time have to put
up with my busy-bee flightiness as I flit from one act of pollination
to the next.

I'm
not a train wreck.

But
I am a bit of an Amway car speeding at a hundred miles an hour, narrowly
averting a derailing.